Beacon of Hope
by rita hayworth
Summary: There was no doubt in Ken's mind that he loved her. He knew he could face a dozen Germans if it meant that Rilla was his own. So he pressed his lips against hers and gripped her tiny waist, molding his body with hers. Rilla/Ken short story.


**A/N: **I've always loved Rilla and Ken's love story, and I discovered that there's a horrible lack of stories about them on here. So I decided to try my hand at one. It's basically a retelling of their story through Ken's eyes, and how he found himself falling for her. It won't be long - only about three chapters - and I'll still be updating my two other stories (_Auld Lang Syne_ and _The Season_) while I write this. Enjoy, and leave your thoughts in a review!

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><p><strong>Beacon of Hope<br>**

**I. Fate's Intervention**

Kenneth Ford sucked in a breath, swallowing it quickly to keep it from reappearing in the chilled air once more. It was a ritual he'd begun at his very first University game, when his nervousness thwarted his desire for a calm exterior. He watched the other team, standing tall and ferocious, stare him down…trying to break down his will. _I'm the quarterback, _Kenneth reprimanded himself, his inner voice harsh. _I'm not supposed to feel anxious._ And so, he inhaled deeply, holding his breath until the centre snapped the rugged, brown ball in his direction.

Kenneth was quick, light on his feet, a trait which had managed to bolster his position to starting quarterback in his sophomore year. Over the past years, his anxiety lessened noticeably, but out of habit, he still took that long inhalation before the ball came flying towards him.

He caught the pigskin agilely, fitting the obtuse object into his hands perfectly. Quickly, his eyes scanned the field, looking for his receiver, his slotback, or his running back. They were all blocked. _Damn those Ottawa Gee-Gees, _Ken cursed the opposing team.

It all happened so rapidly; Ken couldn't even recount how it happened. All he knew that the pain, the feeling of his body slamming towards the frozen grass, and the weight of the huge defensive end pummeling him to the ground, was excruciating—unbearable. He felt something snap; in the huddled mess he couldn't even fathom where the break had occurred. Pain colored his vision; stars of ache clouded his eyes.

What seemed to last for long, agonizing hours to Kenneth was only five seconds in reality. He could feel the weight of the players being lifted off of him as they relented, realizing there was something wrong with the quarterback. Kenneth, for his part, writhed in pain, hopelessly waiting for an official to come and carry him off the field. He was certain that he could not walk off in his current state. Around him, he knew each player was kneeling, praying that their most valued player would be safe.

In his muted state of pain, without the weight of the defence upon him, Kenneth could perceive that the majority of the pain was shooting up from his ankle. Ken had always been a brave lad, but at this very moment his own revulsion of what had happened prevented him from looking at his injury. Had he done so, he would've seen a mangled ankle and bone—tinged with stains of ruby blood—sticking out from the wreckage.

xxx

It'd been a long healing process. Months later, in the dewy summer sunset on Prince Edward Island, Kenneth stretched out his—as much as he hated the word—_lame_ ankle. It was sore, but after so many months living with his injury, Kenneth had become quite accustomed to the aching feeling that encompassed his ankle. His aunts—with whom he had been staying during his summer vacation—were very accommodating, and he was much obliged to them. After all, they had chosen to take care of him while his family stayed in Toronto. He'd felt a sting of hurt—did they care nothing about his recovery?

When thoughts like those flashed across his mind, Kenneth tried to banish them. He loved his family dearly and knew they loved him in return…besides, his ankle was nearly well again, and although he'd be prevented from rejoining his football teammates on the field for the next season, he felt as though he'd be as fit as an ox in no time.

Earlier, before the sun had begun its colorful descent, Walter Blythe had phoned Kenneth to invite him to Ingleside the next day. It would be exactly like when the two of them were children—Kenneth would spend the night at Ingleside, laughing and talking with Walter and the rest of the Blythe clan. It was a time-honored tradition going back to the Rainbow Valley years, when Kenneth and his sister, Persis, would romp in the valley with the Blythes and the Merediths. Besides, he hadn't visited them in far too long…he'd been corresponding with Walter occasionally, receiving a few telephone calls here and there, but he'd been largely detached from his Island life since he'd gone to Toronto for his studies.

And that was why, the very next afternoon, Kenneth found himself hobbling up the lane to Ingleside, looming in the distance. It was so close, yet the pathway to the old, friendly house seemed to stretch on forever as the pain in his injured ankle increased with every step he took.

However, he wasn't standing long before Walter came out and greeted him, in that pleasant way that only a Blythe could greet someone, making sure that his friend had a comfortable place to sit and rest his ankle.

Nan and Di were sitting on the parlor couch, reading the Glen Notes—no doubt trying to find something about their family members, as nearly everyone in Glen St. Mary was mentioned in those notes—and they looked up, smiling nicely at Ken. He'd always thought that Nan was the prettiest Blythe girl; her silky brown hair was always groomed to perfection, and her skin was the fairest color that Kenneth had ever seen on a woman's face—and he'd seen a good deal of women lately. Yet he could never harbor any real feelings for the brunette Blythe twin, for he knew that she always held Jerry Meredith, of the manse, in high regard.

Ken caught sight of Jem exiting the kitchen, and greeted the eldest Blythe with much gusto. Jem was the most extroverted of the Blythe children, and Ken had always appreciated his gung-ho attitude towards life. Still, though, Walter—with his melancholic looks and deep pensiveness—would always be Ken's best friend. It was a bond forged during childhood, in the many days at the House of Dreams, which could never be broken.

Out of the corner of his jovial eyes, Kenneth could see little Rilla Blythe coming down the stairs. The youngest of the Blythe brood, Rilla was always Kenneth's favorite teasing target. He always enjoyed seeing the inevitable blush crawl up her neck, reaching her cheeks, as he called her "roly-poly" or "puss".

"Lo!" he called out to the young girl descending from the stairs—although if you asked Rilla, she would obstinately state that she was a young _woman_, not a girl—"You're looking nice tonight, Spider."

Predictably, a rosy hue begin to spread from Rilla's collarbones to her cheekbones—which, Kenneth noticed, were very striking—and Ken smiled to himself before turning away from her. If he had held her glance just longer, he would see poor Rilla run up the stairs just as quickly as she had come down them, embarrassed to her very core.

Ken was akin to Jem in the aspect that he loved to tease Rilla; Walter would never even dream of teasing his youngest sister, nor anyone else. He didn't feel the same amusement or joy out of making someone blush.

Walter heard Rilla's door slam from upstairs; for some reason, Rilla had always been emotionally affected by the teasing she endured. Perhaps, it had something to do with all the teasing she'd been put through as a kid. So, he quietly and nicely asked Kenneth if he could _please_ stop teasing his little sister, as she felt it _acutely_.

Kenneth laughed amiably, but acquiesced to his friend's wishes. Rilla was growing up after all—perhaps it was time for him to tone the teasing down. But he did enjoy it so.

Susan walked in the room, greeting Ken and inquiring about his ankle. To which he answered tiredly, telling her that it was improving every day, but that he wouldn't be able to play football. When Susan exited he turned to Di and said—

"One day, I'm going to wear a placard on my breast announcing to all and sundry that my ankle is improving and et cetera. I know Susan was only being polite in asking, but I've heard that dreadful question so many times that I'm absolutely tired of it."

The conversation quickly turned to the upcoming dance at the light; the eldest Blythe children laughed and chattered with Ken about it, although he was unsure as to whether he would make an appearance at the party. His ankle was still bothering him and he was absolutely positive that dancing would only worsen its condition, although Walter and Jem assured him that it wouldn't, and Di promised that if he didn't dance, she would sit and talk with him. As Kenneth left Ingleside for the evening, parting with some of his dearest friends, he was still unsure of whether or not to attend the dance, and decided to think of it later.

xxx

Persis had phoned and insisted that he go to the dance. "If I'm in Toronto," she'd insisted, her voice determined, "then you _must_ go to the dance without me. One of us has to represent the Ford family at all times, you know. Oh, and if you see Rilla—she wrote me, saying it would be her first dance—make you sure tell her that I said 'hi'. And could you dance with her, as well? I would hate for her to feel awkward at her first dance. But this is Rilla I am talking about—she'll probably have a string of men all vying for her attention. But, on the off chance that she doesn't, could you ask for a dance?"

Ken laughed at the prospect of him dancing with Spider, yet he agreed. As he hung up the phone, Persis's request ran through his mind, and he began to think of Rilla. He'd seen her today—even if it were only for a split second—but she looked…_nice_. Was it really her first dance? It was hard imagine little Roly-Poly all grown up. Kenneth could still remember how chummy they used to be, back in the Rainbow Valley days, before he'd grown accustomed to teasing the living daylights out of the young girl. Once he'd even given her a present…oh, she was about four and he about nine…it was a chocolate duck, and Kenneth could still remember how her plump little face had lit up when he'd presented it to her.

Thoughts like these were still running through his head as he ambled up to the lighthouse. He was late, but one could only expect to be on time when they weren't lame. Kenneth couldn't wait until his dratted ankle would finish healing.

It was a popular party—that much was obvious. The crowds of people who had yet to dance surrounded him, while the various couples who were dancing sprinkled across the pavilion. Kenneth looked around the room, searching for Rilla, until his eyes fell upon the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. He stared, unabashedly admiring the young woman, until her hazel eyes caught his.

As he walked over towards her—his ankle suddenly seemed to feel a great deal better—he noticed how the lanterns cast an attractive, softening glow across her reddish-brown hair. She broke her gaze as he stepped nearer, a sign of nervousness—why should someone so striking be so nervous? Kenneth asked himself—but her lashes fanned over her cheeks beautifully, and he rather enjoyed the sight.

She looked up at him again, her eyes meeting his once more. Kenneth was taken aback—why, it was Rilla Blythe! It was a shock and a surprise and yet Kenneth wasn't deterred. For the first time in his life he found himself wanting to know more about the youngest Blythe child. When he finally reached her, he whispered, "Is this Rilla-my-Rilla?"

Rilla seemed surprised that he had asked her that question, in that low, romantic tone of voice. Kenneth himself was surprised that he used Walter's nickname for her, but it seemed appropriate at the moment. He wanted her to be _his_ Rilla—he wanted to monopolize her time and take all her dances, even if it meant that he would have to dance all night on his aching ankle.

Rilla nodded her head, albeit apprehensively. "Yeth," she said finally, although it was not without the lisp that had plagued her throughout her childhood.

Kenneth thought the lisp was endearing. It reminded him of the young Rilla he had told stories to in Rainbow Valley, when the rest of the Blythe children were nowhere to be found. "Would you like to dance?" Kenneth found himself asking. Rilla hung her head, once again casting those alluring eyelashes across her lightly freckled cheeks, beckoning Kenneth all the more. Still, she didn't answer his question. Kenneth was perplexed; was she even listening? "Can we have a dance?" he reiterated, hoping she would answer in the affirmative.

Rilla looked up once more, determination etched clearly across her face. "Yes," she blurted slowly. After growing up around Rilla, he knew that she was desperately trying not lisp.

Kenneth stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on Rilla's waist and gripping her hand with his other, guiding her out onto the dance floor. "I think this this game ankle of mine is good for one hop around, at least," he stated as they began to dance.

Rilla nodded, and preceded to inquire—"How _is_ your ankle?"

Kenneth had been asked this questioned many times—from day it had broken to the day he returned to the Island—and it had annoyed him every single time. Yet he could find no fault in answering the dastardly question when it was asked so sweetly by Rilla Blythe. "Oh, it's getting on well. It doesn't trouble me much, anymore," he lied. Perhaps if told Rilla how it still pained him, she would insist that they stopped dancing—and that was the last thing he wanted to do. "They tell me it'll be as strong as ever in time, but I'll have to cut football out this fall."

"That's a shame," commented Rilla. Neither said anything after her comment, as both were contented to just danced among the other couples. Kenneth could sense the eyes upon them; men, who were no doubt envious that Kenneth was dancing with Rilla. Out of the corner of his eye, Kenneth caught sight of Fred Arnold sulking around, staring longingly at Rilla. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as he whirled around the pavilion with the prettiest girl in all of Prince Edward Island.

Kenneth danced with Rilla until his ankle could no longer stand it, crying out in agony. Regretfully, Kenneth slowed the dance. "I'm afraid, Rilla-my-Rilla—" Oh, how he enjoyed the blush that crawled up her cheeks when he called her that! "—that my ankle isn't fit to dance anymore."

He watched as a gloom settled over her lovely face. Kenneth wondered if she thought that meant their time together was over. "Oh," she said softly.

Yet Kenneth assured her that he would still keep her company—he'd not a clue what could possibly coerce him to leave her side—and together they went out by the ocean, rowing on a tiny flat beneath the moonlight. Kenneth was surprised by how easily he could talk to Rilla, because in recent years their conversations had been limited to his incessant teasing. Before the party, he'd had trouble imagining Rilla as an adult, but now—he could hardly imagine her as a child. It was as though she'd grown inexplicably between the time he'd last seen her and the dance.

When they'd finished rowing 'round the harbor, the two of them walked across the sparkling sands—a difficult feat for Kenneth's ankle, as the sand was heavily encompassing his foot—and Kenneth captured Rilla's dainty hand in his own. She looked up at him, her familiar blush running across her cheek, with bright eyes. Kenneth smiled at her—a dazzling smile that made women melt at his feet—and said, "This ankle of mine certainly is a nuisance. Why don't we just sit down by the lighthouse kitchen?"

Rilla assented readily, and soon they were sitting together, admiring the stars and the moonlight surrounding them as they talked. "A merry lilt o' moonlight for mermaiden revelry," Kenneth quoted Walter. If there was anyone who knew how to capture a woman's heart, it was the shy and sensitive Walter.

No sooner could Rilla respond when a group of boys nearby became abuzz with excitement. Both of their heads swiveled towards the distraction, where they saw Jack Elliot. It was rare to see such a boy at a party—he was nice enough, but didn't exactly enjoy the social graces of others, and thus was not expected to attend. _Something_ had brought him there.

People began gathering around him, shooting each other questioning looks. Everyone wanted to know the news Jack brought, yet no one would ask for fear of the inevitable. Finally, someone spoke the question, and a hush fell over the lighthouse. Rilla and Ken did not leave their perch by the kitchen, but listened intently.

Jack inhaled before beginning. "England declared war on Germany today," he stated slowly. For everyone attending the party, it seemed as though time had stilled. "The news came by wire just as I left town."

After Jack finished his dreaded announcement, chaos reigned throughout the crowd. People asked each other questions—"Is this Armageddon?"—"God help us."—however, Rilla and Ken remained silent. For the first time that night, Ken had stopped thinking about Rilla. Instead, his mind was filled with pictures of all his friends enlisting, fighting bravely in khaki, while he stayed at home, cooped up with his ankle. He'd barely get his chance to fight—surely, the war would be over before his ankle healed. Kenneth hung his head in desolation.

When he realized he was still sitting in an awkward quietness with Rilla, he asked her if she was tired. She didn't seem happy—but who could be happy after they've heard such news? But she didn't answer. "Kenneth," she began quietly, "You don't think this war will matter much to us in Canada, do you?"

Kenneth chuckled drily, reminded for the first time that night of how naïve and young Rilla still was. "Matter? Of course it will matter to the lucky fellows who will be able to take a hand. I won't–thanks to this confounded ankle. Rotten luck, I call it."

Rilla questioned him further about Canada's involvement, which he answered patiently. But all Ken wanted to do was go home, and relax his ankle. Perhaps if it received more care than he was giving it, it would heal in time for him to fight. If his friends and peers were to endure the horrors of warfare, he wanted to be with them, fighting alongside them.

So lost in his reverie was he, that Kenneth didn't even take notice of Mark Warren, who ventured to ask Rilla to dance while she still sat with Ken. It wasn't until she was already gone that Ken began to miss her presence, realizing what a comfort it was knowing she had been with him as he heard the news. Glancing down at the dancers, Kenneth saw Rilla dancing gaily with Mark Warren, and he watched dismally as they talked and laughed. She didn't seem to mind that Mark Warren was in possession of two left feet, and she seemed just as content to dance with him as she did dancing with Kenneth. Regretfully, Kenneth turned and left, feeling that he was standing on the edge of a great precipice in his lifetime.


End file.
